Katsu woke up, and found himself undeserted by memory.  It perched, iron-clad and undeniable on his chest, and dug bloody furrows into the few mental walls he had left.  Another time, another man, and maybe it would have broken him.  Had the ghastly remembrances waited to pounce until he was fully healed, there would likely have been no "maybe" about it.  But not now.  Now, it was … too much.

Katsu didn't try to deny anything, didn't tell his memories to take a long walk, or to jump in a river with a stone tied around its legs.  Neither did he cry, or ask why it had happened.  It had happened, and that was more than enough for him.  He was tired, down to the very last bone, and no one would let him sleep.  Katsu stared at his memories, stark and uncompromising in the light of early … consciousness … and realized that he didn't need to compromise with them.

Yokuzoma-sensei was dead.  By the amount of blood, he had been long in dying, and it had certainly not been a good death.  Sagara-taichou was dead too, with no more honor to his circumstances.  They were all dead – the Sekihoutai, who had been a second family to him; his first family, though he didn't remember much of them; and now Yokuzoma-sensei.  They were all dead, and nothing could change that.  He could fight the obvious, or accept it – and right now, he was far too tired to put up any kind of a fight.

So Katsu accepted it.  The memories did not wane, nor did they die: they were still there, still heavy on his chest, waiting to pounce.  If anything, they were fresher, more vivid now that he was not trying to deny their existence.  The difference was that now, Katsu didn't see the point in crying over them.  He was tired of crying, and tired of dying, but of the two, he only had control over one.

The door slid open then, and Katsu unconsciously turned his head to see who it was.  Thus, he managed to catch the look of real surprise – and happiness – that came over Kijou's face when she saw he was awake before she composed her mien into one more proper.

"You wouldn't … happen to have any water, would you?"  Katsu managed a weak smile, though his throat (and voice) rasped like a dry wind.  "I am … unbearably thirsty."

She smiled back, murmured an affirmative, and went to fill his request.  Katsu settled his head back onto the pillow, and stared at the ceiling.

He was quite done with crying.

**************************

Hmmm.  You know, I could have sworn I was going to get this done last Friday.  It's not even that long, compared to the last couple chapters.  Well … next one's coming out by next Friday, at least.  Maybe sooner, if I'm feeling ambitious.  Don't get your hopes up, though.  And, at the last count, there were four or five more chapters of flashback to go.  Yay.

Kuroiyousei: Glad you like it!

blah: well … forward the teenage revolution!  You'll be fine, unless your parents routinely read all the webpages you visit.  ^_^

Lychee2: piffle piffle piffle.  It is fun.  Unlike this chapter too, I'll bet.  And you're not alone … I think everyone hates Kijou.  I know I do.  :)

Strider: you bug me nearly every day to update, and harass me until I write, and frequently talk to me about the chapter I wrote, or at least mention some events in the latest chapter occasionally … but no, I had no idea you were still reading every one.  You know what?  You just made my day.  Gimmie a hug.  And why on earth would I have Saitou kill her when I can make Aoshi do it?  Or even Katsu himself … though that wouldn't help him much.  Nah, back to Aoshi.  Katsu can function because he's superman, duh.  :D  Or maybe I'm just a very very very persuasive writer … okay, fine, he really is Superman.  :P